


at ease

by qar



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, GUESS WHAT, Gen, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I AM SO SORRY. THERE IS NO COMFORT, Illnesses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Minor Character Death, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27564463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qar/pseuds/qar
Summary: You're going to die. You aren't sure if that's comforting.(Based off of Lillian_nator's work (this is home), which was based off of (this was home) by free_cookiesx)Disclaimer:If any of the creators mention they are uncomfortable with these types of fics I will take this down.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 19
Kudos: 315





	at ease

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(this is home)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25581172) by [Lillian_nator](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillian_nator/pseuds/Lillian_nator). 



> 'You' is referring to Tommy. This is not a self-insert.
> 
> This work is based off of (this is home) by Lillian_Nator, which was based off of (this was home) by free_cookiesx.
> 
> TW for terminal illnesses and implied character death.

You watch yourself deteriorate, slowly, and all you can think about is how much easier it’d have been if you’d died in those first few weeks.

You’ve watched it happen; in the cracked mirrors of broken-into cars, in shards of glass that follow you around, in puddles of filthy, muddy water, and, more recently, in the reflections of your friend’s eyes. You’ve watched yourself die, and you’ve felt it too.

It’s obvious, you know, in the way your lungs feel like paper bags on the best of days and dead weight on the worst; and the way that you’re too tired to move now. How Wilbur carries you around gently, and delicately, like if he’s too rough you’ll crumble like wet sand. How Phil takes your hands in his larger ones in the morning and asks you how you’re feeling. How Techno’s jabs are softer, now, than they were ever before.

“You’re going to be okay,” Phil reassures him in the mornings, hands brushing unkempt blond hair off your pallid forehead like a ritual. “You’ll be okay.”

Some days your voice will fail you, and you’ll nod, weak, and feel your eyes fill up with tears. Other days you’ll cough down the gunk that obstructs your throat and open your mouth.

“I’m going to die,” you will say.

You’re going to die, you know. Everyone knows it, even if they tell you otherwise. Everyone knows you’re too far gone for the medicine to bring you back; no amount of medicine will fix the permanent damage to your lungs or get rid of the radiation. Nothing will. You’re not sure why they’re still trying.

“I’m going to die,” you say, and you believe it. You say it like a mantra, every morning when you wake up and every night when you close your eyes. You are going to die.

“I’m going to die,” you say, beaming with joy as Wilbur hoists you onto his back, laughing at a quip you’ve just made. Tubbo grabs your hand from where he’s walking next to you. You squeeze it back. You’ll enjoy it for as long as you can. You are going to die.

“I’m going to die,” you say, kneeling into yourself as you struggle to inhale any oxygen, Phil and Techno fussing over you as you choke on nothing, tears and blood dripping off of your face and onto your bedsheets. Your voice will not function. Your lungs will not cooperate. Your body is failing. You are going to die.

Your friends mean so well. You are safer here than you’ve been in seven months, yet it’s the worst you’ve been. It’s life’s idea of a cruel, cruel joke, and your friends are at the brunt of it.

You are going to die, and you remind yourself of this fact when you’re too secure in your happiness, or when you’re in agonizing pain. It’s as much of a comfort as it is a painful truth, and you grasp that comfort with both hands.

You may be on the brink of death constantly, but you aren’t oblivious. You can see the toll your health is taking on the people around you. You can see Techno struggling to stay strong, despite how often he tells you that it’s okay to let your guard down. You can see Wilbur trying his best to stay calm for his friends, and how he cries, sometimes, when he thinks you’re asleep. You can see Phil, whose guilt is enormous and almost unbearable when you hack out your lungs and he can’t help. You can see Tubbo’s overwhelming loneliness that seems to only go away when he’s near you.

You’d left home eight months ago expecting to die. You’d left the corpses of your parents behind, in shock and denial. You’d talked to yourself as you wandered the streets of Britain, scavenging for food and resources. You’d gone silent. You’d killed. And you’d made it so, so far.

You look out of your window into the night. The streetlights have been broken for a long time, now, and everything is dimly illuminated by moonlight. It’s quiet except for Wilbur’s snoring next to you. You know that Techno and Phil are asleep in rooms across from yours. Tubbo’s back at his farmhouse.

You stand up slowly, carefully; maneuver your way around Wilbur as not to wake him up, and make your way to the common area before you have to sit down and catch your breath. It’s deafeningly quiet. You’re not sure if you’d prefer noise.

You’ve written the note. You leave it on the table. You stand, slowly, and make sure you’ve done everything.

No food or water. Old shoes, because you want to leave Wilbur his white sneakers; if you took them they’d be wasted. You’d told Phil, Wilbur, Techno and Tubbo you loved them, earlier, more than usual; and that was all you really needed to do.

You are going to die, you tell yourself, stepping out of the front gate and into the street. You are going to die.

You’re not sure if it’s comforting or not.

**Author's Note:**

> it has been a while since i wrote hurt no comfort!! i used to be a god. now i write 800 words of barely sad shit. but that is simply how life goes.  
> As always, kudos, comments and bookmarks are appreciated! Don't forget to join the Discord if you'd like to make some friends!! Here's the link (just copy paste it into a web browser):  
> https://discord.gg/w9CwSK26mm  
> Also I have an Instagram and (newly made) Tumblr!! they're @qarraqar and @noorahqar if you'd like to check them out :)  
> Stay safe, everybody!! Take care of yourselves <33


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